


leave it all behind

by bokutoma



Series: three of wands [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Circle of Magi, F/M, Named Amell (Dragon Age), Surana (Dragon Age) is not a Warden, Warden Amell (Dragon Age), amell is a bastard, morrigan is his bitch match made in heaven, not a literal one he's just an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 12:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: he is a prodigy, meant to be a legend in his own right. he hungers for more, desires freedom in a way that would have him condemnedhe chafes under his restrictionshe will break free





	1. Chapter 1

In the morning, the tower was silent.

The wind whistled through the cracks in the stone, chilling the air, and it was with some reservation that Daylen climbed out of bed. He looked around, satisfied that no one else was awake, then shrouded himself in a thin layer of ghostly fire before silently stalking out of the apprentices's quarters. At this early hour, he knew the templars would only guard the front and key offices higher in the tower. That was fine. He had no need for petty mischief.

The library was quiet at this early hour, when no one dared stir, and it was here that was his own private domain. He drew books to him, careful to keep them away from the flame that coated him in dripping red, and began to flip through them, searching. For what, he wasn't quite sure, but he would know it when he saw it.

The hunger for knowledge clawed at him, desperate for release. It was a yawning cavern that would never quite be filled; it begged him to do whatever it took to sate it anyway.

Equally strong was the lust for freedom, the stark jealousy he felt when a templar left those double doors without a second thought. Desire scratched at the door of his mind while rage bubbled in the pit of his stomach. They pleaded with him to unleash all the rawness within him, use his full potential to blast a hole in the old stone that encased him and flee.

He knew better than to indulge those thoughts. For all the ugliness that seethed inside him, he was always perfectly in control. He was a prodigy, and he knew it; he would not lose his agency, whether to templars, Irving, or demons.

With a sigh, he closed the books, casting them back into their appropriate slots with ease. Nothing could be gained today, and it was better that he rest anyway, prepare for the trial ahead of him. 

Daylen Amell would destroy anything that got in his way, no matter what.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a journey into the Fade

To Daylen's ears, Greagoir's threats rang truer than Irving's insipid words of comfort. He needed no praise from a man just as likely to stab you in the back as the templars were the front, and he knew he would succeed. There was completion or death, and he did not know what it meant to fail.

The whispers of the Senior Enchanters filled his brain as he fell into lyrium tainted darkness.

* * *

When he woke, the world was a faded sepia around him, floating islands stretching out before him in linear, if complicated, paths.

So it began.

He spun his staff out from his back, a refreshing gust of wind pushing his hair back from his face, and began to walk, dropping his hands to his sides as he stalked purposefully forward.

A wisp appeared in front of him, barely noticeable as it seemed to flicker in and out of existence. He had decided against fighting it, as it wasn't a threat to him, but then it fired a bolt of magic.

His eyes flashed with raw energy, a wall of fire materializing in front of him, absorbing the spell, and then he  _pushed._ The wisp burned, an ungodly shriek emanating from its collapsing form. A sit gave one late sputtering attempt, he fired a blast of arcane energy at it, and it split apart in a shower of light.

He carried on like this, undaunted, blasting through wisp after wisp without missing a single step. There was no time for hesitancy, no allowance for faltering or a dalliance with a lost soul calling itself Mouse, not with templar swords at his back and a demon before him.

Before him, the path diverged, the way ahead uncertain, and a clearing, where a spirit stood, weapons lined up around it.

 _"Valor,"_ Daylen sneered contemptuously. He had never held any particular fondness toward the spirits of Fade, their noble ideals childish and unattainable. Still, he was not above playing nice for the sake of a goal, had in fact based his entire career in the Circle on that little trick.

He kept his face carefully neutral as he approached, his staff ready but not aggressive. The weapons looked well-made, solid and light.

"Who goes there?" the spirit thundered at his arrival, like so much hot air.

"'Tis only I," he replied, his tone carefully clipped and even. "And who might you be?"

"Canst thou not see, even with thine mortal eyes?" It gestured broadly, causing Mouse to squeak and scamper backward. Daylen suppressed the urge to yawn at the grandstanding. "I am Valor, every fighter's most noble aspiration!"

Privately, Daylen thought the templars were rather more apt to strive for idiocy.

"A most worthy being indeed," he instead agreed. "I assume, then, that you know why I walk the Fade when most mortals are still awake."

"I know all that goes on in this land," it boasted.

"Then you must know why I approached you. I desire a weapon, and yours look to be of fine make, and mostly untested in combat."

"Yet what valor hast thou shown me?" the spirit asked, sweeping its arms out wide. "I wouldst see you in combat first, but thou art not a worthy foe."

"Are you a coward, then, masquerading behind ideals?" Daylen asked, the grip on his staff subtly tightening.

The spirit's body flashed; he could not get a more direct warning. "Speak again, whelp, and thou shalt feel the bite of my blade!"

"Still, you dance! Are you afraid of the truth of my words, spirit? I see no other reason for your damnable words."

For a long, still moment, Daylen remained tense, certain that Valor would swing its sword. Then it laughed, the sound like gears grinding.

"Impetuous words, yet thou art a mortal whose mettle is uncommon indeed! Take this staff with my blessing. The foul demon that taints this place is fearsome indeed. Its lair is back from whence thou came. Another lies further along the path, but it sleeps, and should not trouble ye lest ye disturb it."

Daylen spun the Fade hewn staff experimentally; it was as light as air. For the first time since encountering Valor, he let a cocky grin overtake his face. "Thank you, spirit. I think I will go disturb this demon."

Sloth emanated great power, yet he was still unbothered. He had encountered stronger in his dreams, had fought with Hunger and Desire far more insidious, and sloth was one of the few sins he did not indulge in. Besides, riddles were child's play, and now Mouse could adopt a shoddy semblance of the demon's form.

"If nothing else, you'll at least draw some fire away from me," Daylen idly commented as they trudged back to the demon's den. "I suppose that's all I can really ask from you, anyway."

Emboldened by his new form, Mouse attempted to start conversation several times throughout the trek back to the demon's lair, but each time, his chatter fell on deaf ears, and after the fifth attempt, he finally got the hint and gave up.

As they approached, the air smelled like burning flesh and rotted corpses. So it was to be rage he tested himself against; very well. It would not pose much of a threat.

They circled the entrance to the clearing, and the flat head of the demon within swung around to follow them.

"Ah,  _Mouse,"_ it hissed, its serpentine body wriggling toward them. "Have you come with more meat for the table?"

"Not anymore!" the bear cried.

 _What a shame,_ Daylen thought,  _for such a powerful creature to seem so completely pathetic._

Mouse shot him a sidelong look. "Are you in shock?"

" _Maker,_ the apprentices you managed to fool must have been exceptionally stupid. I had you pegged from the moment I saw you. There's no way you could have survived on your own."

He was perfectly content to let Mouse stew in the awkwardness of his own making but the demon had had enough. "Do not waste time with this pointless chatter!" it snarled. "If you are against me, Mouse, then you will die as well."

Rage had always been the easiest flaw to rid himself of. The demon was careless; it neglected its defense terribly, and with Mouse serving as a half-decent distraction, he was able to polish it off with a few short spells, cold blooming from his fingers into wicked daggers.

"We did it!" Mouse cheered as the demon crumbled into nothing, and Daylen felt generous enough not to correct him. "You truly are the most talented mage I've seen since I've been trapped.

_"Obviously."_

"We could leave together, you know. What you made Sloth teach me, combined with your limitless potential...the world would be at your fingertips. They would bow before you."

Daylen laughed, a short, hard bark that held no humor. "One thing that you should have realized about me, demon," he scoffed, relishing the way Mouse's eyes widened at the revealing of his true form, "Is that the world is already within my grasp, and, once I grab it, I have no plans to share."

**Author's Note:**

> @ghostheirin


End file.
